Drink Me Down
by Atomic Eyes
Summary: Angel and Faith have a job to do but its so much harder when they face her, wide eyes and tears. Buffyangel, BuffyFaith, BuffyFaithAngel


**Title:** Drink Me Down  
**Fandom:** Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel the Series  
**Character/Paring:** Buffy, Buffy/Angel, Hints at Buffy/Faith & Buffy/Angel/Faith  
**Rating:** R for violence  
**Spoilers:** All Seasons  
**Warnings:** Character Death, Angst  
**Summary:** Faith and Angel have a job to do but the follow through is so much harder than it seems.   
**Feedback:** Please, Please, Please.  
**Author's Note:** The premise for this fic is based on an RP I'm in _Keep You In Mind_. It's dedicated to Jenna & Hannah. The Angel and Faith to my Buffy –muahs-

Looking back she thinks she should have known what was going to happen. There should have been a sense, something embedded deep inside her like radar that should've flashed when danger was near. She just never figured he'd be the source – even after everything she was actually surprised. She should have known from the looks she'd been getting, the fact that no one would meet her eyes and her friends avoided her at all costs.

They came in the middle of the night. She'd passed out early after a swift patrol and a quick check on the potentials littering her house. She'd taken a long shower and tried to scrub away the burden of leadership and the knowledge that they were all going to die. She'd accepted it when she'd refused the power offered to her and seen the horde of uber-vamps waiting restlessly under the earth of the school. She was startled awake by a hand gripping her hard and a warm body sliding behind her on the bed; pulling her arms behind her - effectively removing her ability to get free.

She was struggling to kick her body loose from the vice grip when she felt him, heard the familiar voice in her ear, "B," as her sister slayer's legs wrapped painfully around her body stilling the movement of her legs. Faith's hand closed over her mouth and Buffy would have thought to bite it if she hadn't stopped all signs of struggling while she searched his eyes. The shadow figure of her ex - always, forever, only - lover slipped a bit closer to the bed. 

Angelus, her mind screamed.

Faith's sorrowful whisper, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," in her ear pulled her from the chocolate orbs that she realized held no trace of Angelus. He looked older, somehow, haunted by more than just his past. Confusion ripped through her, along with the pain, it etched deep down into the marrow of her bones.

Another, "I'm sorry," from Faith's lips, whispered but so loud it was like a roar in her ears.

Buffy's eyes widened and she struggled anew, sensing what those word meant - finality, death, the end - what the pain in his eyes and the sorrow in her voice, what it all meant.

She shook her head furiously and tried to scream, it was silent even behind the other slayer's hand. Her eyes flashed with anger, what right did they have? These two people who'd both destroyed her in so many ways, what right did they have to come in here, to what? Kill her?

She stared at him, how his brow contorted and something akin to defiance flashed across his face - it was gone just as suddenly replaced by utter defeat. Even then, as she struggled against an impossible grip she wanted to take away that look, give him more. Then she felt the anger surge again. She couldn't feel bad for him, for either of them, not now, not with what they were trying to do to her. Why?

She knew then for sure, what was coming. They **were** here to kill her. It wasn't just her over active imagination or some stupid prank that Faith had cooked up. She was going to die - by his hands. It seemed fitting, she'd died a thousand little deaths by his hands, his words, his absence - why not let him grant her this. The one who should have ended it long ago.

She was going to die. Would she go to heaven? Could you go there twice or would the weight of her sins pull her down to the bowels of hell - the place she knew she deserved to rot in. She didn't want to die anymore. She wanted to fight. The emptiness could be filled, she knew that now. Lesson learned. Even as his face changed into the visage she'd learned to love as much as his human features - she knew he could fill her up. Drink him in and let him save her, let her save him.

She felt the warm wetness of tears on her neck and wondered when she'd started crying, then her ears picked up the tell-tale sound of Faith behind her and she knew they weren't her tears. The other slayer - stronger, faster, better - was silently weeping while she held Buffy down, waiting for Angel to kill her. 

Buffy would have laughed out loud at the irony if she could have. Wasn't this what Faith had wanted? All those years ago? Get rid of Buffy, take away her life and take her place. She found herself wanting to comfort Faith, despite it all. She thought maybe she was crazy, wanting to make it ok, tell them it was ok when it clearly wasn't. Her inner slayer screamed at her to fight, her heart told her to ask why and the beaten down girl was just so tired.

He moved closer, each step seemingly painful and he opened his mouth to speak, the moonlight against his fangs held her attention. He choked on the words and she could swear there was an apology written in his eyes.

_Save your fucking apology!_ She wanted to spit in his face.

She felt the laughter bubble up inside her, the sounds muted by Faith's hand but her body shook with it and the tears leaked out of her eyes. She could feel the tension between them, neither wanted to be there and she laughed harder, squeezing her eyes shut.

As abruptly as it had started the laughter stopped and Buffy blinked the tears away, she stared at Angel for long moments, listened to struggling breaths of Faith behind her. Then she closed her eyes and titled her head to the side, her hair falling against Faith's face and her scar peering up at him with all the anger she felt inside. Submission - didn't vamps get off on that? She was asking, no begging him to get it over with - to stop looking at her like he loved her when he was there to end her. She shut her eyes tighter at the horrible combined noise the two of them made at her action.

She didn't know how long she stayed like that before she felt the cool breath he didn't need on her neck. She could practically hear the way their eyes locked in silent determination over her neck.

He kissed the scar first and she shuddered, his tongue grazed it, tracing the outline and she squirmed in Faith's grasp. Wanting - not knowing what she wanted in those moments.

"I love you," he murmured against her ear, so low that she almost didn't hear it. She wished she hadn't.

The white hot searing and beautifully torturous pain of his fangs sliding into her neck sent jolts of unwanted desire through her entire body. She didn't want to like this, didn't want to need it - didn't want to be taken back to the cold floor of the mansion with him fitting perfectly between her thighs and drinking her down.

But she was, suddenly she was back there and he drank her slowly and she struggled again to free her arms, to push him closer her - make him drink more. 

Time seemed to stand still as he drank down her essence, the gentle sucking was making her ache for the violence she knew he was capable of. She wanted him to roughly drink, drink her dry and leave her to rot with only this feeling. She hated him for it, hated him for making her want this and denying her for so long.

Her mind got cloudy, the haze was like blinders to her eyes and there was only sensation. Only the feel of the warm curved body behind her and the hard muscled frame above her - both clutching her possessively. When he pulled away she whimpered in protest, realizing that her mouth was now uncovered. She didn't even register the glint of metal as his wrist was sliced open and when it was placed over her mouth she drank his borrowed blood without hesitation.

She was like a greedy kitten lapping up warm cream and when she glanced up at him his expression was pained, haunted and terrified.

The next thing Buffy knew she was on her bed with Faith wiping away the stray blood from her lips and Angel's sobbing form mocked her from the edge of the bed – the haze overtook her and then there was nothing.

The darkness.

The first thing she remembers with clarity - she was in the mansion on her knees and her body was ripe with pain and her belly full. A man in a black robe was standing across from her; Angel and Faith were looking on - faces filled with worry, fear and guilt. A dead body - Amanda, she recognized - was lying at her side, blood dripping lazily from the open wound on her neck. The sweet coppery taste of blood was still fresh in her mouth.

"Oh God. No."

Images assaulted her then, like looking through a TV monitor, watching as she did things, said things and her body pitched foreword, dry heaves wracking her tiny frame. Angel was by her side in an instant and she pushed him away angrily.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?" She screamed at him.

Thinking back, she knows all that anger at Angel had been exhausting. Screaming and yelling and blaming him. Begging him to end it for her, final death this time. They couldn't just let her be; no one would ever let her be. She'd died and been brought back and then it was wrong and they'd killed her and turned her into this thing - this monster.

It had taken days after that for her to speak to anyone, a week before she fed, feeling the warm thick sensation of reheated pigs blood filling her belly and making her weep with the helplessness it created.

She'd just watched as Spike had gone after Faith, screaming and cursing at her. Watched as Angel nearly killed the blonde vampire for daring to touch what was his, daring to talk to her after everything he'd done. The irony wasn't lost on anyone. She'd listened as they fought, slung words at each other and she'd closed her eyes tightly against the violence and they way it excited her.

She sat numbly and listened as Giles explained why, the question she'd been asking herself over and over in her mind. The first was strong because of her, because they hadn't been able to leave well enough alone and brought her back. So they'd decided to kill her again, kill her - peace, emptiness, heaven - only they couldn't handle loosing her again. Not like that, so they'd asked Angel - he was the only one. Always the only one. They hadn't expected her to awaken so quickly, there was no precedent for turning a slayer - and the shaman hadn't been ready. She choked on the bile as the memories of the things she'd done and said assaulted her. 

She'd leaned on Faith first, finding herself unable to resist the dry wit and the fact that beyond that night, whispering in her ear, Faith hadn't apologized. She hadn't wasted the words she'd known wouldn't mean anything. Buffy had overheard a conversation - yelling match - where Faith had told off her former watcher and called all of her friends exactly what they were. Selfish. Faith had at least admitted that she was selfish, that killing Buffy for good wasn't something she could have done. She owned up to it. Buffy's respect for her sister slayer returned and morphed into something else all together.

She didn't forgive Angel; she didn't forgive any of them really. Eventually she let him hold her, she pounded her fury into his flesh when they sparred and she sobbed her sorrow into his chest. She let him get close - let herself be a painful reminder of exactly what he'd done. The haunted look never really left his eyes. Not even at night when she laid securely in his arms, Faith's warm body against her back and his silent chest against her ear. She had an eternity to forgive. And she was so tired, so tired of pretending. 

Her dreams were filled of the past, of things she could never have now - never wanted without him - filled with pain and blood and violence. She thinks some things will never change. Her nights are filled with death and demons and darkness. Red satin sheets and teeth and more blood and more violence; her bed is full of cold breath - body, mouth, cock - and a single heart beat - warm mouth, soft curves. Slayer blood and sire blood – always his/hers – filling her up, the emptiness finally gone.

Looking back, she should have known what was going to happen. She should have known that her death would be by his hands - lips, teeth, blood - and she should have prepared for it.

Forever, That's the whole point.


End file.
